


snare

by icosahedonist (teljhin)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15123449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teljhin/pseuds/icosahedonist
Summary: Zhenya will not admit this aloud, of course, but: he thinks about that picture a lot. His wife and his captain—that's the one that captures his attention.





	snare

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to C for the beta.

Zhenya will not admit this aloud, of course, but: he thinks about that picture a lot.

Anya posted it to her Instagram the day after it happened, a nice portrait of her and Sid posing next to each other at the get-together Sid held to start the season. In her heels they're of a similar height, slightly turned toward one another and flashing polite smiles at the camera. Anya's holding a drink while Sid appears to have one hand on her back. It's one of a handful of pictures she took with various teammates that night, and in all of them she stands quite neatly next to them, the perfect image of elegant grace. If she hadn't chosen him, Zhenya thinks she could have her pick of anyone in that room.

But the one of his wife and his captain—that's the one that captures his attention. That's the one that snares his heart in a tangle of desire.

The thing is, they're just standing next to each other. That's it. But Zhenya imagines them after the picture: looking at each other for a moment, maybe smiling a little more. Some hidden exclusivity lurks along the curves of their smiles, he thinks, a little telepathic jolt exchanged in the blink of an eye. They'd just know, and so after they'd gone their separate ways, mingled and chatted for a while, they'd slip away to find each other all alone.

He thinks about Sid rucking up Anya's dress with those big hands of his, about Anya tucking Sid's face into her neck, sliding her knee up his thigh. Sid's body would crowd her against the wall, and once the hem of her dress was around her hips, Anya would bring her other leg up to cling to him, let him hold her there. She likes being bodied around a little, likes running her hands over Zhenya's body and telling him he has to earn those muscles, so he thinks of her hands on Sid, making him earn it by holding her up against the wall.

Then he imagines them on the bed, _their_ bed, Anya splayed out, Sid rocking into her in smooth strokes. Would Sid be steady as a metronome? Maybe he'd take his time, play with her a bit: slip out to rub the head of his dick over her folds then slip right back inside. He could hold the little bullet vibrator that Anya especially likes right up against her clit, watch her squirm and jerk as he moves within her.

And sometimes Zhenya imagines being there beside them, watching them fuck. He could hold the vibe himself, flatten his palm over it and spread his fingers down so Sid could pass between them and feel their combined wetness grow. He'd whisper in Anya's ear how beautiful she was, how wonderfully she was taking Sid's cock—and then look up at Sid and tell him he was fucking her so well.

He can almost hear the whine that starts in the back of Anya's throat, almost see the furrow in her brow as she twists beneath Sid, her mouth slack with broken sound. Her restless hands would roam from her hair to her mouth to Sid's chest and thighs like she can't decide where to settle, every touch another searing brand.

What does Sid sound like, he wonders, if he makes noise at all? Is it all hard exhalations and shaky gasps through flared nostrils, does he throw his head back with groans pulled deep from within his chest? Does he talk? Would he join his voice with Zhenya's and tell Anya how beautiful she is, how perfectly she takes his cock, that he wants to fuck her forever and ever, just like that, _just like that_ , more and more until he spills inside her with a shout?

Zhenya closes his eyes and thinks of that damn picture and sees it all unfold like a movie. Like right now, in the shower, idly stroking his cock to his own personal porno when he should be getting out and going to bed. A little guilt niggles at him though, like he's getting away with something he knows he shouldn't.

He tells himself he's being silly. It's just a fantasy, after all; he's jerked off to weirder and more implausible scenarios than this. And sure, he's harbored something of a crush for Sid all these years, and he's definitely had a few elaborate fantasies that starred Sid in a prominent role. But imagining Anya with Sid—that feels different somehow, and he can't think of why.

He doesn't hear Anya until the door to the shower swings open. He turns toward her but doesn't stop touching himself, some streak of defiance rearing up against the guilt. She smirks at him, and for a moment he considers telling her everything.

Slowly she rakes her gaze over him, and the moment passes. "Couldn't wait?" she says with a purr. She begins shucking her pajamas, tossing them carelessly onto the floor behind her.

He shakes his head, mute with lust. Once naked, she saunters toward him with a deliberate swing in her hips. He lets go of himself to clutch her to him, meeting her halfway in an open-mouthed kiss.

Feeling her lithe body against him, trading increasingly filthy kisses, he wants suddenly to devour her whole. He wants to be consumed with equal hunger. He _wants_ , so he presses her down to the edge of the bench and kneels before her.

"Zhenya, your knee—" Anya tries, but he ignores her in favor of shouldering his way between her legs and flicking his tongue out. When she gasps, widening her legs so he can fit himself better, he knows he's won.

The scent of her surrounds him, invades his mouth, and he dips his tongue in to taste her. He chases that sharp, bitter tang, laps it up with nigh insatiability. He feels more than hears her moans, the water distorting them, and against his cheeks he feels her thighs tremble.

He looks up; above him, Anya's eyes are clenched shut as if in intense concentration. Her mouth is a perfect pink oh.

Zhenya closes his eyes and lets the fantasy come back to him. He imagines Sid doing as he does: kneeling before Anya on the wet tile of the shower, running his hands along her thighs and hips as he mouths at her labia. Swiping his tongue in lazy patterns across her clit, then harder and more focused when she thrusts up at him.

He sinks into it, Sid transposed over himself as he slips a finger inside her cunt and curls it, sucking her clit between his lips. Anya cries out, and she pulls at his hair, and the scent of her intensifies further; she shakes against him, and he feels painfully hard.

Suddenly she seizes up with a shout. Her hands tighten against his scalp and her thighs squeeze at his shoulders as she orgasms. He watches her shudder through it, his mouth gently kissing at her swollen flesh, and only when she finally relaxes with a sigh does he take himself in hand. It doesn't take long: between Anya in reality and Sid in fantasy, Zhenya buries his face against Anya's thigh and comes with a muffled cry.

He comes back to himself when he feels Anya's fingers tickle his ear. He swats at her, missing, and raises his head to see her satisfied smile.

"Did you get what you wanted?"

Guilt returns with her question. He nods because he did, but he was thinking of Sid while fucking her. Thinking of Sid fucking her like he did. He hoists himself up, his knees cracking and Anya clucking her tongue at his foolishness. They turn off the shower and dry off and bundle themselves off to bed, and Zhenya thinks on his guilt while he holds Anya close.

Imagining Anya with Sid, imagining all three of them together—it feels different, he thinks, because in truth he doesn't want it to stay a fantasy. He wants it in a way he thinks he shouldn't, because Anya should be enough for him and everyone should stay firmly in their designated roles: wife, husband, captain.

Shouldn't they?

He squeezes her tight. "Hey Anya?"

"Hmm?" She leans back to look at him, her eyes already sleepy.

He loves her so much. He should say nothing. He thinks about that picture.

"What do you think about Sid?"


End file.
